The Hysterical Tracys
by princessezzy
Summary: Second in the Poor John series.Alan takes an IQ test, hysteria ensues and everything you never knew comes pouring out! Warning:very silly and most definatly not to be taken seriously!approach with an open mind...thats all i'm saying
1. Chapter 1

**A/N **

**Here we are with the second of the Poor John series so enjoy!**

**Warning: Blondism, Gingerphobia, incest hinting, cross-dressing and devil worshipping among other things (I just really put you off didn't I, bugger)**

**Dedicated to my Dad, who has almost as twisted a mind as me when it comes to ideas and often helps me, give it up for King David!**

Brains slowly reached for the readouts from the machine which bleeped ominously at him. As he stared at the strange spikes and muttered something to the computer which verified them, he got a strange feeling in his stomach.

Apprehension.

Or was it fear?

Brains was never unsure about _anything_. He decided that he should probably do some analysis on his hormone levels, and drink some more carrot juice. Just before he left, he switched on a discreetly hidden camera to the deep inner sanctum of International Rescue.

He had a feeling this was something he'd want to see again.

---

Alan reached for the paper that had been handed to him and began to open it nonchalantly. The others made a large point about deliberately not looking, making that _tiny _little flutter of nerves amplify so that his heart began to pound slightly.

It's not easy being the youngest.

Their slightly-paranoid (come on, give the guy a break) father Jeff Tracy often made his sons take IQ tests just to make sure that the radiation from the crafts and danger zones wasn't affecting them. Usually it didn't, but raising five boys practically single-handed had always made him a _touch_ worried about that sort of thing.

However, Alan wasn't worried about his results. Having an IQ just above average and a firm belief it wasn't going to happen to _him_ helped, but after reading it all he could do was gape.

"What? What is it?" finally interrupted Gordon after waiting for five minutes of watching his little brother pull a silly face at the paper. After no reply was given Scott snatched the paper away.

"94…Alan you-you BLONDE!"

There was a very heavily pregnant pause, soon giving birth to lots of little, equally embarrassing pauses.

"What does that have to do with anything?" asked a much confused Virgil.

"Well you know how blondes are supposed to be stupid?" Gordon finally caught on;

"BLONDE! BLONDE! BLONDE!" Alan slowly turned to him with a crazed look in his eyes.

"Ginger…" He hissed. Gordon stopped mid flow to gape at him.

"It's bronze, bronze I say!" was his furious denial. Poor Ginger – I mean Gordon – had now almost been reduced to tears.

"Ginger!" was the only response he got, all his brothers turned on him, disgust in their eyes. After all, having a ginger in the family was at least ten times worse than simply having two blonde brothers.

"Well…at least I don't CROSS DRESS!" He shrieked. Scott fell to his knees.

"It was only a phase!!!" he cried.

"So why do you still have mum's high heels in the bottom of your wardrobe?" Virgil screamed at this, pointing at his role model in horror.

"You monster! How can you still be _doing _that? You promised me you'd stop!" The poor boy was quite disillusioned, as you can expect.

"I have! Only on Purim! Besides, John's way more sexually messed up that me!" he garbled, passing the blame. All of them stopped to think for a while, except Alan.

"Hmm…that is true…" They all nodded in agreement, except Alan who looked round, confused.

"What? What about John?" He asked.

Gordon cleared his throat quietly, the word _blonde _shining through his evidently fake coughing fit.

"Shut up!" Poor Alan was now incredibly confused.

"Well Al, you were too young to remember… I suppose it's for the best," came Scott's reply.

"All those times he canoodled up to you, and you too young and innocent to notice." Virgil said this rather quickly and quietly, but every word rang true.

"Wait, what!?" The poor young boy's eyes were now incredibly round and panicky. An observer might have quietly tapped them on the shoulder and pointed out his current predicament, but unfortunately no one was present, and so the boys continued.

"Uh huh, that's right."

They watched him leave as he ran from the room sobbing, his lasts words ringing around the small chamber;

"How could you do this to me? Jooohn!"

His hysterical sobs would haunt the Tracy family for some time… and would soon light regret into their hearts. Especially John.

But that's another story.

---

Meanwhile in space, John had just finished his latest symposium; he had recently become a musical genius - not that any of his family had bothered to ask - and was completely ignorant to the accusations being bandied about Tracy Island or the repercussions of them.

Jeff Tracy had just stepped out of his office only to be almost run down by his youngest son, who had been making for his room crying more than he had since he was five. Hearing shouting he decided to pursue the matter with his other sons.

"What is going on?" he asked, perfectly reasonably.

"Virgil worships the Devil!" Jeff very slowly turned to the aforementioned, who couldn't quite meet his father's gaze and muttered something like "at least I'm not a transvestite in my dead mum's clothes" under his breath, and for some reason Jeff _really _didn't want to know.

Brains, who had been standing at the side of the room since he had given Alan the results, made a tick on his clipboard.

The crucible theory really did work.

**A/N **

**Just to let you know there will be an epilogue to this story, and also the crucible theory is that under the right conditions hysteria can grow and thrive with ridiculous effects, like the Salem witch trials.**

**This story was beta'd by Mrs Alichay Sohma, so thank her for the lack of grammar problems.**

**Alichay: I cannot believe you couldn't even spell grammar properly. –shakes head in disgust- And really this was a joint collaboration, but sometimes my princess needs some help –curtsies-**

**One day I'll write a sensible Thunderbirds FanFic…one day…**


	2. Epilogue

**A/N Here we are the epilogue! I'm sure you've all been waiting with baited breath, well ok coming back to reality all I can say is me and Alichay had a lot of fun thinking this up and I hope you enjoy it too!**

Jeff put his head in his hands. The past few days had aged him, more so than any daring rescue.

He'd had to wrestle the stilettos of his dead wife off one son _and _take away the make-up… the strangeness of the situation overwhelmed him… he'd have to investigate the root of this; he knew the army could be…risqué but he'd thought Scott strong enough to resist the temptation!

And Alan… he shook his head sadly when he thought of what had happened to his youngest, most… _innocent_ son… such wasted talent. He'd walked into the kitchen only to find TinTin teaching Alan to **count**. To **five**. And the real clincher was that he was actually _struggling_. In the end he'd had to use the Thunderbirds to do it.

When she'd seen him, TinTin had glared at him as if it were all his fault and mumbled something about being a technician and not a kindergarten teacher. But, seriously! The boy had studied astrophysics at university and came out one of the _top_. Everyone was claiming it was because he was _blonde_ but Jeff had to disagree; he'd been blonde then too. And besides; what about John? They'd just mumbled something about being more white than blonde and premature ageing.

Gordon had been creeping around silent as a shadow, cringing anytime someone came near including transvestite older brothers and emotionally-scarred younger ones. Virgil had gone that one step further, he still shuddered remembering them:

_Flasback_

Jeff had been striding along the hall when he noticed thumping noises coming from Virgil's room. Normally, being the wonderfully trusting parent he was – trusting his sons with his life nearly every day – he would have happily ignored it, having complete faith in his sons… but now he wasn't so sure.

The first thing he'd noticed was the blood, still dripping from the carcass of the goat (where'd that come from? He'd have to research goats in the pacific) then the rather dazed-looking Gordon slumped on the floor.

"Umm Virgil, what are you doing?" Virgil looked up as innocently as if he'd been caught doing homework.

"Satan needs to be appeased, Father." He stated calmly as if it were the most common thing in the world.

"Riiiiiiiiiiiight, but with Gordon?" Virgil glanced back down at his prey, his expression turning to disgust.

"You're right Father, his darkness wouldn't want _this_." And with that he'd thrown him out the room, pausing only to spit at his brother.

"Ginger scum." Gordon curled up, whimpering. Jeff shook his head at such barbarity… then found that he had been ever-so-slightly backing away from his… penultimate son. He shook his head, attempting to clear his thoughts, but found the corridor to be empty.

It was getting increasingly difficult for Jeff to get the boys to spend time with the unfortunately ginger –

Gordon waved his hands in flustered disgust. "BRONZE!" he screamed.

- unfortunately _bronzed_ son. He decided to rent a film; now, what was it these boys listened to nowadays? Rap? In a vain attempt to be 'cool' Jeff found himself creeping towards the 'Young Person' section of his local – and when I say local, I mean he had to take Thunderbird 1 to get there (yes, his desperation had reached that extreme) – Blockbuster. What was it Alan had on before… before… err… R! That was it! It began with R! It had 2 parts… it was a girl's name… Sandra? Jane? Kelly! That was it! R Kelly!

Jeff took the doomed DVD to the counter, ignoring the strange look the Cashier Boy gave him. He had a feeling tonight he would solve all their problems.

---

Jeff stared in horror as yes, another gun was extracted and waved carelessly at yes, another voluptuous woman. Shaking slightly as the profanities escalated, Jeff watched in horror as her affair was brought into light.

"The man… was a midget! Midget! Midget!"

Jeff could only gape. What had _become _of the youth of today? He ignored the little voice in the back of his head which reminded him just how _old _he was now, and looked hopefully at his sons. Maybe _they _were enjoying the… experience.

Alan was cowering in a corner, a good three feet away from his other siblings. Scott's puzzled eyes had not left the voluptuous woman's chest, wide with wonderment. He leaned towards Virgil. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to get them that size?" Jeff desperately ignored this to see his previously-mature son's reaction.

"Not enough blood…" the pianist muttered. "Why doesn't he _use _the guns! Look… that wonderful white wall… a perfect canvas… and the woman's got blood to spare…"

Jeff simply stared.

He traced his second-youngest to lurking in the shadows of the large sofa, squatted on the floor away from his transvestite, satanic and terrified brothers. He was clutching a pillow to his chest, and Jeff got the distinct impression he was waiting for something.

A gleam entered the youngest's eyes as he turned to the unfortunate boy. "Ginger!" he said, carefully in time with the music. The other two snapped out of their 'reveries' and grinned sadistically with their brother. "Ginger! Ginger! Ginger!" they repeated, chanting it with the DVD.

Gordon screamed and bolted.

Jeff yet again found himself with his head in his hands.

_End Flashback_

Jeff shuddered at the memory, but gathered his thoughts; now he had other sons to attend to. And as if corresponding with his thoughts, there was a knock at the door.

"You wanted too see me, Father?" said Alan poking his head round the door and looking round in a paranoid rabbit fashion.

"That's right, take a seat Alan." Once he was sitting and couldn't get out easily Jeff began.

"Now, Alan, I know you and your brothers are having some…difficulties at the moment, but you have to remember that we are a team and…"

Alan began struggling against the duct tape restricting his forearms. The plastic gave an ominous squeak. "I'M NOT GOING UP THERE!" he screamed.

"But, dammit Alan, he's _starving_!" Surely enough, the plastic gave a final groan as the youngest Tracy broke his bonds with almost inhuman strength.

Alan jumped up and fled the room screaming "You can't make me!!!!" as he banged the door shut. Jeff winced and turned to the vidcom.

"I-I'm sorry John, I tried, you'll have to wait until I've trained another astronaut."

"AHAHAHA!!!!" came the hysterical laughter from the other end. John Tracy looked up with a manic gleam in his eyes;

"BOOTS AGAIN TONIGHT!!!!!!!!!!!!"

**A/N and you wonder why this series is called the Poor John series, sigh poor John, but it is fun doing this to him. In case your wondering, the song was 'trapped in a closet', lol bit like Scott, but yes it does actually exist!!! I've got another story planned so if you think I should write it please say, well, if you really **_**don't**_** want me to write it please say but Alichay thought it was funny, didn't you Alichay?**

**Alichay: -nods- the hilariosity did not escape me. And yes… that last line was one of mine! –happy dance- I thought of one, my Princess! –mutters quietly to self-**

**Review pwetty pwease!!!**

**Alichay: -nods-. They make us ever-so-happy!**


End file.
